


Of Mutual Benefit

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roose humiliates a drunken Brandon on both his own and Barbrey's behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Mutual Benefit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/gifts), [sternflammenden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/gifts).



Lord Ryswell brings his younger daughter with him when Lord Stark calls them. Roose finds the decision odd, but the worst has already happened. At the feast they sit beside each other, Barbrey giving him a brief forced smile. She is prettier than her sister. Bethany is. She is tall and slender, but healthy looking, handsome even. If she were the eldest he would have rather had her.

Roose gives her a similar grin back, his eyes drifting over to where Brandon Stark sits drinking with his brothers. He is the oldest of them, Rickard's heir, but still younger than Roose is. He is, or should be, Brandon's better in every way. He is a lord, wed and with child, and Brandon is still a wolf pup, yapping at maids as they pass. Brandon's attentions are on the girl pouring wine. She is short with dusty hair and wide eyes, likely unbedded.

Roose obliges her and begins conversation.

"Your sister sends her affections. She remained at the Dreadfort as she's with child," he says. Barbrey nods along, her eyes still on Brandon's hand curled around the girls waist.

"Have you considered names?" she replies.

"Not yet. It's best not to rush such things," he says. She promised him a son this time.

Her dress is relatively open for the cold weather, fur encircling the pale skin of her neck and decolté. Roose doesn't bother hiding his stare, and when Barbrey catches his eye she lets out a dismissive laugh.

"I've learned from him, you know," she says. Her lips form a smile, but their is none of it in her eyes.

Roose rests his hand on her wrist.

"Perhaps he needs a lesson himself," he muses.

Barbrey tilts her head, intrigued.

"Go on then, Lord Bolton."

\---

Roose watches as Barbrey speaks with Brandon. She touches his arm gently as he laughs at something she says. When she turns to speak with Lyanna, Brandon shoots a knowing glance to Howland Reed. Barbrey then whispers something to Brandon and gives him one last warm grin.

When she sits back down next to Roose, she turns to her father, eyes pained.

"All the noise and wine has made me dizzy. Lord Bolton has kindly offered to escort me to the Godswood if you'll allow it," she asks softly.

Lord Ryswell has never refused Roose anything.

\---

The Godswood is cold, but the heat of the pools makes it far less harsh. Roose stands in the dark of the forest, pale faced and clad in red. Barbrey looks up into the rustling leaves, his wine skin in her hands. It is serene. If this were his own land, his own woods, he would have her like this, the two of them as quiet as the trees.

Brandon's entrance into the scene interrupts this, his stride the swagger of the drunk and overconfident. He kisses Barbrey immediately, and though he can not see the details of it precisely, Roose can hear the breathy noises of it. Barbrey's hand shifts and Brandon lets out a low groan. He's heard it said that Brandon is wolf blooded, but it seems little different than the blood Roose has drained away. A good bleeding would do wonders for both him and the North. A Warden should reflect his lands.

"I like your breath and tongue sweet with wine," Barbrey hums, pushing the wineskin against Brandon's chest. As Roose circles closer, he can see a slight motion in her wrists, continuing to stroke Brandon through his clothes. Brandon laughs lustily.

"However you like me, I'll oblige you, my lady," he replies, his hips beginning to buck at her touch. Roose watches the bob of his throat as he downs the wine. He licks his lips clean, his eyes not leaving her. "I can imagine your father was less than pleased. Let me make up it to you."

Barbrey rests her head against his shoulder.

"Anything, my love?" Barbrey asks.

"Anything."

Roose moves silently as he would on a hunt. Perhaps in another time, this would have been. The thought of it stirs him, claiming Barbrey with Brandon's skin still warm on his back.

Brandon twists to face him.

"Lord Bolton....?"

Brandon's grin is still easy.

"If you wanted a second man you could have picked someone a bit more lively," Brandon japes, stumbling back into Roose. 

"I was curious what it might be like......" Barbrey murmurs. She speaks as if confessing something. Brandon chuckles. Roose grips his shoulders, as Barbrey shoves the wild wolf towards him.

"To see you bleed and ache as I did."

Roose knocks Brandon in the back of the knees, forcing him to the ground. Barbrey's arms wrap around Roose's waist as he places his boot on Brandon's back. Brandon squirms underneath him, but the wine and the poison has rendered him sluggish.

Barbrey's hand slips further down as Roose looses his belt, her lips tickling at his ear. Brandon's looks are too hard for him to find much pleasure in them, but the soft contact brings the bad blood in him to light.

"My good sister said the pain of it was half the pleasure, perhaps you'll find it the same," Roose teased, grinding his heel into the small of Brandon's back.

"My father.... Your head... I swear--"

Brandon's threats are garbled and inconsistent. 

When she's seen that Roose is fully hard, Barbrey steps back crossing her arms. As Roose kneels over Brandon, she places his right hand under foot. Brandon sags, the poison at it's strength, as Roose slides his pants down to his thighs.

"Be still, my lord," Roose sighs, tugging his hips adjacent to his own.

"But he's not a lord yet," Barbrey corrects.

Her lips are turned up in a smile. It is the first time it has been genuine.

"Oh, but you will be won't you?" Roose hisses, rutting his cock against the curve of Brandon's ass. "Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North."

The bad blood has brought his rage on, and he yanks Brandon by the hair, pulling his hand from underneath Barbrey's boot. Brandon grunts as he moves limply. Barbrey wets her lips.

"Do it, Lord Bolton," she says calmly.

Roose obliges her a second time. Brandon is tight, and he eases himself in slowly. He imagines Lord Rickard's horror at knowing his heir has been ruined by his own bannerman. He and Barbrey have planned this to remain secret, but the thought of it is intoxicating; Brandon's cheeks burning with shame before his father, his men japing behind his back at being made Roose's whore.

Brandon's whines as Roose works back and forth against him. He locks eyes with Barbrey as his hips rock. He's earned her favor for this, and she knows well enough what Roose desires from her. In time she will visit her sister at the Dreadfort and Roose will collect what he's owed then, in his own lands he can not be refused.

He spills himself inside Brandon soon enough. Brandon has gone unconscious from the affair.

Roose stands, dusting himself off, and Barbrey strides over to him.

"Clean him and take him to his chambers. It's best if I return ahead of you both," Roose orders as he finishes redressing. "I hope you found the wild wolf's performance satisfactory?"

Barbrey nods.

"I won't forget the sight of it."

\---

In the Great Hall, Roose's plain face and somber manner are hardly missed. Only Howland Reed notices when Barbrey returns. Lord Ryswell is too drunk to notice the discrepancy, and upstairs Brandon slumbers. Neither Barbrey nor Roose speak further, but there is no need.


End file.
